


ask me no questions, and I'll tell no lies

by ElasticElla



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Background Clary/Jace/Maureen/Simon, Background Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, F/M, Fae & Fairies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one ever came back from the meadow, whispers of witches and faeries and goblins and trolls. It makes for a good story, but Isabelle is twenty-two now, she has rationality and science on her side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ask me no questions, and I'll tell no lies

**Author's Note:**

> for more soft trash, my [tumblr](http://parkwest.tumblr.com/)

Isabelle has always had many loves. Too many, far too much passion if you asked her mother. For Izzy loved knowledge and beauty, the known and the unknown, the moment of solving any intricate puzzle and the exploration before. She had friends as close as family, and her siblings were the best of her friends. The only love she hadn't overindulged in was romantic- always going for fleeting and fun, for no one had truly caught her interest. No one could stand against a mystery. 

It's her love for exploration that brought her to the meadow, a flimsily truthful excuse about examining the swamp for new lifeforms to keep her family from worrying. No one ever came back from the meadow, whispers of witches and faeries and goblins and trolls. It makes for a good story, but Isabelle is twenty-two now, she has rationality and science on her side. 

Witches and warlocks mostly hated living anywhere that was known, would have certainly left were the whispers true. Trolls can't be in the sun, and Izzy was sure to come on a bright, bright morning. Goblins obviously aren't real, a tale created by parents to scare children into behaving. And faeries, well Isabelle was hoping it was faeries, stuffed her pockets with shiny bits of tinfoil and small shells and forgettable items. 

The meadow gleams between the trees, and as Isabelle steps into it, she's immediately encased in the heady scent of violets and fresh grass. She walks towards the middle, and the air itself seems to have a golden shimmer, seems to ring like small bells. Her pockets are empty, and after some time she gives up on ever reaching the center, laying down in the meadow instead. 

Eyes closed, she can hear faint laughter, but when her eyes snap open, the sound dissipates, only the soft bells to be heard. So she lays back down, lets her eyes close, and the laughter comes back, warm and in a multitude of voices. She knows she isn't alone, but she doesn't want them to go away again, waits to see what may happen. 

Isabelle isn't sure how much time passes or doesn't, loses herself to the tinkle of laughter, could stay here forever without thinking of the consequences or even of the action itself. The laughter is like a warm blanket, grows over her like flowers, and only when she feels like she might fall asleep does a hand touch her shoulder. 

“Open your eyes.” 

Isabelle does, is greeted by the most beautiful man she's ever seen. He has long brown hair tipped with blue, and the most deceitfully gentle brown eyes. His skin is without a single blemish, looks as though a sun lives inside him with such a glow. And there is a leaf by his left eye, tattooed or innate she knows not, delicate and intricate and Isabelle's fingers ache to touch it, to trace its outline. 

“Hi, I'm Izzy,” she says, sitting up and crossing her legs. 

The faerie, for there is nothing else he could possibly be, says nothing. 

Her eyes catch on his wrist, and she sees he's wearing the old charm bracelet that was in her pocket before. She smiles, asking, “You like the bracelet then? I'm glad.” 

He cocks his head to the side, hair falling forward. “You are not like the others of your kind I have met, Izzy.” 

“Oh?” Izzy says, a smile curling her lips up, “do I get a name then?” 

His eyes go steely quick, sudden enough that Isabelle almost jerks away from him, hadn't noticed how far she was leaning into his space. 

“Sorry,” she mutters, sitting up straight. 

“Names have power,” he says, “surely a shadowhunter knows that?” 

Her eyebrows come together, “I'm not a warlock- it matters not. Shall I call you Charm?” She asks, eyes darting down to the bracelet. 

He laughs at this, loud but not loud, a happy warmth rushing through her. “What if I were a Prince?”

Izzy grins, “Then you'd have a dozen new stories to tell.” 

“Of love and war?” 

She shakes her head, “Of being a hero.” 

He smiles, softer, less pointy somehow. “My name is Meliorn.” 

And if Isabelle knew, if her people knew, more about the ways of the fae, she would have known in that moment she was lost. For one cannot know a faerie, cannot _truly_ know one without falling in love. 

But she did not know, the new name dancing along her tongue. “Meliorn, it's a pleasure to meet you.” 

Isabelle knew not how long she spent in the timeless meadow, existed entirely in the present. Meliorn braided violets into her hair, and she found bluebells to weave into his. She knows no hunger or thirst, forgets about her body's needs entirely. The sun always beats down, there is never a single cloud, and she is always warm but it is never overbearing, she never produces sweat. They dance and dance and her feet never tire, only stop when new flowers bloom.

She kisses Meliorn in a bed of four-leaf clovers, and he tastes sharply inhuman, of the sun and lavender. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and Izzy forgets how to breathe. 

The distant laughter fades in the wake of their kiss, as do the even more distant bells. 

“Where are they?” Izzy asks. 

Meliorn doesn't quite sigh, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Gone.” 

“Where did they go?” is the natural next question, is asked before she thinks if she wants the answer. 

“Back to the faerie court, to our realm,” he says. 

“Will we follow?” Isabelle asks, curious. “I've never seen another realm before.”

“There would be no return. Even in the stretched times, especially while still human, you would need to eat at least every century.” 

Isabelle frowns, doesn't like the assumption that she wouldn't go to his realm. (It's true of course, but that doesn't mean she likes it.)

Meliorn walks her back to the swamp, every step weighing on her as she fights the irrational urge to promise herself to him, to a new land. 

“Will you come back here?” Isabelle asks, “To the meadow?” 

Meliorn smiles, “For you I would go into your town without a glamor.” 

She looks up into the sky, sees the sun is higher. “How long has it been?” 

“An hour.” 

Izzy laughs until she realizes he's serious, “But… it felt like a lifetime.” 

“It was.” Meliorn squeezes her hand, bracelet jingling. “I will always meet you in the meadow, but you must not come more than once a year. Otherwise your body will grow too accustomed to my time, and you will have to live in the faerie realm forevermore.” 

Izzy's eyes widen, had already imagined spending her weekdays with her family and her weekends with Meliorn. A year sounds so long- but she did just spend many more, surely she could be patient? Hold onto her memories?

“I'll miss you,” she says, and with a final kiss, she heads back to her family. 

Though she knows logically nearly no time has passed for them, it still takes her by surprise to see her little brother Max hasn't grown. She hugs him until he begins squirming, and then jokingly offers to make him lunch. Max sticks his tongue out in response, and Izzy is so overwhelmed she nearly cries. It's like every feeling for those outside the meadow were put in a jar, and like Pandora, she just ripped the lid off, emotions flying every which way. 

She is not the same person that went into the meadow, she knows that. 

She does not take another lover, does not wish to be disappointed nor compare the new one to the old. Isabelle doesn't feel a need to, would much rather work on dissecting the latest corpse. She spends every evening with at least one of her brothers, has become Max's favorite tutor. The warlock Alec dates comes as a pleasant surprise, the square of lovers Jace takes- a shadowhunter, a mundane, and a vampire- while pleasant, is not nearly as surprising. 

Izzy tries not to be jealous, can't help but wish Meliorn human so he could live with her. (She doesn't truly wish it, wouldn't change a thing about him.) There is a hunger beneath her tongue that never fades, that begs her to return to Meliorn right away. She hugs Max or Alec or Jace when it gets bad, and it recedes for a week or two.

It's the warlock, Magnus, that figures it out. He brings it up when they're alone thankfully, painting their nails as Alec picks up dinner. 

“You've taken a fae lover,” he says in a matter of fact tone. “You're either ignorant or foolish, and I know you're no fool.” 

Izzy swallows, carefully repaints her nail the green of Meliorn's leaf. “I'm being safe.” 

Magnus sighs, “The only safety would be to forget they exist. You can't resist the pull of the faerie court, no human ever has.” 

Izzy swallows, the hunger back and thick beneath her tongue. 

“I could help you,” Magnus says delicately, “I could make you forget.” 

Isabelle nearly panics, quickly says, “ _No._ ” 

There have been days she's been tempted to go back to the meadow simply because it feels like a dream, that it couldn't possibly have happened. Nothing, _nothing_ , would make it worth forgetting. Even if they've lost their reality, the dream-like memories still soothe her, still make her believe, comfort her in her sleep.

“It's too late for you,” Magnus says, “you should tell them.” 

Naturally Alec comes back then, Jace in tow, “Tell us what?” 

It is to no one's surprise that her eldest brothers do not take the news of Izzy falling in love with a faerie well. (Nor even that they're real.) Jace doesn't like that he might not be able to beat Meliorn up if it comes to a fight, and Alec doesn't like that Izzy refuses to tell them his name, using Charm instead. They do agree not to tell their parents, though Magnus warns them against this. 

Izzy spends the last week before the year turns writing two things. The first is a letter to her parents should she not return, the second is a scientific account of faeries as near as she can remember. She doesn't truly believe she'll be gone for long, is certain she'll be back in an hour to destroy the note below her pillow. 

.

Though the meadow isn't any smaller, this time it only takes two steps to reach the middle, and Meliorn appears. 

“You came back.” 

Isabelle kisses him, kisses him until she's sure she can't forget the right combination of sun and lavender. 

“Of course I did- I missed you, I love you.” 

And Meliorn's eyes sparkle like brown sapphires, and he kisses her, hands clasped to her cheeks. 

“I cannot say the words without stealing you. But know I would mean them.”

And they dance and dance and dance, and Isabelle cannot remember ever being so happy. She won't, but she understands all the people that went to the faerie court without warning their families or friends. 

They stop by the freshly bloomed tiger lilies, Izzy wants to cover Meliorn with them, but then they smell smoke- and everything goes to hell. 

Isabelle does not believe her senses at first- Maryse and Alec, and a dozen other shadowhunters, are setting the meadow on fire. They've ripped up the mushrooms that grew between the swamp and meadow, salted the land and set it aflame. 

“Oh gods,” she whispers, “I swear I didn't know.” 

Izzy turns, and Meliorn is gone. (There is an arrow where he stood, and Izzy barely clears the ruined meadow before she's sick.)

“You're alive! My sweet, foolish girl,” Maryse says, and Isabelle slaps her. 

“What have you done?” Izzy yells, over the fire's high-pitched cackle. Tears drip down her face, “How could you? What if he can't come back?” 

Maryse frowns, touches the hand-print. “I'll allow that once as you're clearly unbalanced. We saved you Isabelle. One day, you'll see that. You'll thank us, and if your brother's arrow was true, the only place _Charm_ will go is to death's door.” 

“It was one hour a year!” Isabelle frantically yells, continuing softer, “You saved me from nothing but happiness.” 

“There's no need for such dramatics-” Maryse starts, and Izzy tunes out the rest. 

She doesn't speak to Maryse again, and avoids Alec as well. Jace tries to play mediator, and on bad days she imagines what Maryse and Alec say to him. 

“They were worried about you not having a choice-” Jace starts, and Izzy's bitter laugh cuts him off. 

“They ensured that one.” 

Or another time Jace says, “They were afraid you'd never come home.” 

“And instead of talking to me, they thought murder and realm bridge burning was the way to go?” 

Jace doesn't have an answer, just says, “They love you.” 

A year later, and the hunger still hasn't come back. That's the part that scares her the most, that the hunger is gone because the possibility is gone, and Meliorn is-

A year later, and she talks to Alec again. It doesn't hurt that he's still heartbroken over his warlock dumping him after the faerie meadow destruction, and Izzy's tempted to seek Magnus out, to see if there's a spell. 

(She doesn't. Izzy's too afraid there isn't, that it'll crush the last bit of hope she's clinging onto.) 

She doesn't start talking to Maryse. Maryse wasn't a soldier following orders and not questioning them, she had designed the whole thing. Had decided once again that a downworlder's life wasn't equal to a shadowhunters', and Izzy can't help but imagine the circle rune on her neck. 

.

With more than a little liquid courage, Izzy seeks Magnus out. It's amazing luck that he's in the same home, and she takes it as a fortuitous sign. Asking if there's any way to track her faerie. 

Magnus hesitates, nearly doesn't tell her. “There is, a potion that will magnify your connection to all things fae.”

“Okay.” 

“The ingredients, you'll have to find them.” Magnus says, writing a list, “They aren't easy to come by, if you find them at all.” 

Isabelle swallows, nods, “Thank you.” 

Jace invites himself on the potion material finding adventure, and Alec stays home with Max. Izzy's guiltily grateful, isn't ready to spend every hour with him, forgiven or not. Jace brings his lovers too- Clary, Maureen, and Simon- and Isabelle makes fast friends with them all. They're all good people, and Izzy's pleased, knows her brother will be just fine. (It's far too early to think like this she knows, but she needs to, needs to believe they'll find the nine ingredients.)

The first ingredient is found within the week, Maureen stumbles upon a purple-capped mushroom bathed in moonlight while she was looking for flat ground to camp on. The second takes another month, Simon smelling out a fish with orphan's blood in its veins. Izzy finds the third, a leaf that matches Meliorn's mark and by chance finds the fourth under the same tree's roots- the skeleton of a starved mouse. Another month in, Jace succeeds in making the crown of violets, hundreds of blooms woven together. They find nothing for the next three months, and the four refuse to abandon Izzy to her increasingly desperate quest. But then they find a flower that blossoms with every color of the rainbow, and Izzy weeps, relief and joy flooding her system. 

The sixth item is a bell the size of a thimble, and it takes another two weeks for them to find someone who can create such a small bell that still rings. The seventh and eighth Clary finds, a pair of twin five leaf clovers growing from the same stem. The last ingredient takes the longest, and Izzy insists on the four going home. They listen this time, leave her with hugs and hope. 

It is a perfect golden pearl she seeks, fresh from the wild. She loses track of how many oysters she's eaten, no longer tastes them as she swallows them. But one lucky morning, she finds it. 

She brings the ingredients back to Magnus, and he says he'll have the potion in two days, that she should give her goodbyes. It's easier than she once imagined- her brothers are all grown, and her ties to this world feel weak.

Izzy brings the gray potion to the meadow, fresh doubts crawling down her spine at the sight of it. Where the mushroom line once was, nothing grows, and the whole meadow is full of weeds, not a single flower. It seems small, smaller still when she reaches the center. The air is flat and silent, not even a cricket or a bird in the vicinity. 

Izzy sits down and drinks the thick potion. 

She panics when she can still feel time pass, but forces herself to keep her eyes shut. It'd be just like the first time, Magnus said, she just had to wait. 

Hunger gnaws at her stomach soon enough, thirst tears at her throat, but Izzy did not travel the world to be beaten by her body. She didn't-

There's a hand on her shoulder, and she can barely breathe.

“Open your eyes.”

She does, eyes bright, “You're here, you're really here.” 

Meliorn smiles, takes her hands in his, “That's my line. I did not think I'd be able to come back in your lifetime. How…?” 

“Warlock,” Izzy says, and he nods.

“Clever girl.” Meliorn's eyes break away, “Are you sure? I will not be able to bring you home until it's too late. The meadow will take many turns before it is of use.” 

Izzy cups his face in her palms, “You have my name, you have my love, you may have my humanity.” 

Meliorn kisses her, his taste familiar once more. 

“I love you,” he whispers, and in a glimmer of gold, they disappear into the faerie realm.


End file.
